Thousand and One
by ClockworkRaven
Summary: The world is a strange place. Themed drabbles of Hetalia, both AU and cannon.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

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Smoke

Gunpowder clouded the air, canon roar drowning out the world-and then he caught a glimpse of familiar colors in the dawn's light. "O say can you see…"

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Angler

Ludwig was an inexperienced angler in this thing called love (there was no manual for him to find), but luckily there was a fish that all but threw himself into the boat.

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Tattoo

He didn't know how it had gotten there; he'd just woken up one day (not the least bit hung over) and stared in bewilderment at the marks in his skin. He simply pretended it didn't exist (uniforms were wonderful things) and went about his business. Sometimes it would burn or ache, and he'd thought about low quality ink and going to a doctor-but never did. It would not be until after the War that he would discover the meaning behind the numbers lining the inside of his wrist.

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Dirt

Nothing gave him more joy than to see his usually fastidious Ludwig up to his elbows in dirt just because Feliciano had asked him to help plant tomatoes.

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Memo

He wrote a memo, "Propose to Italy". (It would end in disaster and the little piece of paper would be forgotten until years later, when he would find it while cleaning out his office. It went much better the second time.)

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Accent

"What is it with Americans and British accents?" Alfred colored and became fascinated with the carpet.

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Whisper

"Awrigh' Awthur, I'mma gonna go play now!" The Empire watched his colony run about the park with a gentle smile. "He won't always be yours you know." Arthur froze, before spinning around to confront the speaker-or tried to anyway. Strong arms pinned him in place and he nearly panicked, for all that could trap a notion was another but he didn't know this voice- "But he'll still love you, even after he rebels." A soft chuckle brushed against the frozen empire's ear. "God knows why. Well, see ya later." Suddenly his captor was gone, and when England spun around there was no one to be seen. "Awthur?" England glanced down at the tug on his sleeve. America was staring up at him, big blue eyes worried. The elder managed a smile. "It's fine, just thought I'd heard something."

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Rotten

"Something is rotten in the State of Denmark." What had he done to piss England off lately?

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Chick

Sprawled on the ground with arms spread, the fallen empire looked more like a baby crow than the powerful raven he had aspired to be. Too small and too still thought the black eagle, red eyes gazing at the dark feathered corpse, to be alive. But the tiniest of movements caught his sharp eye, and thus the black eagle took the chick under his wing and taught him how to fly.

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This is essentially a bunch of drabbles that were eating my brain until I wrote them down. More to come. Some may or may not spawn longer fics, and lemme know if you wanna play with any of the ideas.

Until next, ClockworkRaven


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

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Idea

America valued ideas, no matter how impractical or ludicrous, he would always listen and speak of them (even if he looked a fool in the process) because it was an idea that created him. And who was he to keep ideas from reaching the world?

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Recall

"Just this once, I want you to remember." A gasping, hitching sob escaped the Italian. The German looked on, blue eyes (so familiar old known you since-) bewildered. "Please, please, remember." (What is the value of a forgotten promise?).

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Shatter

And all at once Prussia's dark wings were shattered (and the eagle would fly no more).

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Bird

He paused at the sight of a fluffy yellow…thing in the albino's hair. "What on earth is that thing on your head?" Gilbert grinned. "This is the awesome Gilbird!"

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Attitude

"All it takes is the right attitude Artie!" "Don't call me that! And there is no way sky diving is solely about attitude!" "Well, a good parachute helps…." "…No."

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Confusion

War was a messy succession of images to them (for they were every fallen soldier, every battlefield, every ravaged town), a confusion of sight and sound, relegated to the back of their minds (this is me now not Londonfieldsplanesinthesky) so they could fight more personal battles (no confusion they are wearing the wrong uniform). So simple once, shoot the bastard running towards you (not so simple now).

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Artistic

Germany knew, bone deep, that Italy was an artist. It was in his bright eyed fascination in the world around him, they simple, complex joy he found in something as mundane as sunlight on grass. A vivid, wonderful artist of life (and he found himself wishing, in the dead of night, that he did not have to teach Italy the cruel art of war).

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Passionate

Ludwig hadn't been able to look Feliciano in the face for a week after Elizaverta gave him a talk about how she'd "better hear about their passionate love-making because goodness knows Ludwig had been in denial for much too long" before sending him off with a box of unmentionables. His vivid blush had taken several hours to fade.

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Light

When he first saw Feliciano dancing through the colors cast by the cathedral's rose window all he could was that he'd never seen anything so beautiful.

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Yes

"Do you really want this?" brothers and a gun betwixt the two rain and tears all together all for an idea freedom liberty and the pursuit of hap- "Yes."

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No

He could never say no to Italy when he used that expression. Even if granting the request resulted in a great loss in dignity (though nothing would get him to mention the Fish Incident. Ever.)

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Drama

It was a strange drama, a war without physical battlefields or guns- a MAD game of chicken, bright blue eyes staring down violet- a grasping reach for the moon ("I was built upon dreams," America would whisper, "what is one more?")

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Dress

"Italy….what are you wearing?" Bright amber eyes blinked up at him, then Italy smiled. "I used to wear something like this when I worked for Austria, ve~" _But that was long before I ever met Italy_, Germany thought_, so how could it look so familiar?_

_

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Ridiculous

_Honestly_, Arthur thought, _if any one of these absurd modern "fairies" ever met up with a proper fae it would be a bloodbath._

_

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Poncho

Alfred groaned. "I am never drinking tequila again." Mathew resisted the urge to gin, patting his brother sympathetically on the shoulder. He thought the photos of Alfred in a sombrero, poncho and neon pink maracas would work quite nicely for blackmail material.

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Culture

American culture was a bizarre mix of nearly every civilization under the sun. There were more mutts than purebreds, a haphazard mishmash of thoughts ideas practices hopes dreams that somehow solidified into a single nation. The others had a hard time understanding how he could see straight, with so many conflicting opinions thoughts selves. Well of course he could, they were all still him.

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Barber

"You mean the whole Demon Barber thing was _real?_" "He wasn't that bad of a fellow really, just had a few issues-" "A _few_?"

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Daylight

The tiny colony of America cuddled closer to England, listening as the empire's voice drew him into a place where knights fought dragons and saved princesses and every day was an impossible adventure-an idea made so very believable by candlelight and a fort of pillows. So the tiny child settled and listened as the knight challenged the dragon and there were happily ever afters. (the world would be a different place, come morning.)

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Second installment. If anyone has some one word prompt they wanna throw at me feel free, just know that them getting a drabble may be iffy.


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